


Continue me in this!

by bhaer



Series: Before The Storm [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Awkward Encounters, Canon Era, Chaste Kissing, Friendship, In my defense they're like seventeen, Really immature jokes, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bhaer/pseuds/bhaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-canon. Enjolras moves to Paris and finds that all is not as he left it. Combeferre has a mistress with flowing blonde hair and Courfeyrac's become political.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continue me in this!

Combeferre woke up from a deep sleep, entangled in a sweaty embrace. He was content. His mistress’ hair smelled like lavender and with every breath he inhaled her and was reminded of their night together. After a string of unlucky romances, he had chanced upon this particular girl and was so far immensely pleased with his find. Claudine was smart and pretty and best of all, seemed to really like him. It was hard not to revel in that fact.

He thought he could have spent the whole morning lazily touching the smooth skin of Claudine’s shoulder had a somewhat violent knock not battered his door. Claudine blinked and groggily sat up, her perfectly round breasts hanging exposed. Combeferre swore uncharacteristically and grabbed his robe. The knocking continued.

“Who is it?” Claudine groaned, shimmying into her chemise. Combeferre had no answer. He was not expecting company.

“I’m coming!” He called to the uninvited visitor. Claudine had quickly dressed, though with her sleep-tousled hair and red cheeks, anyone with a brain could have seen that she did it in haste. Her simple brown dress was unbuttoned in the back and she struggled to close it without the use of a mirror.

Combeferre forced the door open with considerable annoyance and found, to his surprise, that his rude visitor was his closest friend.

“I came! My doctor said I was as well as I’ll ever be, so I came in last night, and I’m to enroll in the law school this afternoon!” Enjolras cried enthusiastically. He looked the same as he had six months earlier when they parted, Combeferre for Paris and Enjolras to rest at home.

“I’m… glad,” Combeferre stuttered. He was glad, though a little overwhelmed by the shock. He missed his closest friend dearly. He also wished Enjolras had chosen another day to descend on him, or maybe had warned him of his arrival.

If Enjolras saw Combeferre’s confusion, he thought nothing of it, grabbing his friend into a tight embrace. In his arms, Enjolras felt frail. Combeferre wondered what the doctor had really advised. It wouldn’t be unlike Enjolras to forge a letter proclaiming his good health and then to march off to Paris without any thought of the personal consequences.

Behind them, Claudine coughed politely. She had managed to button her dress closed and wrap her hair into a pretty, if clearly hurried bun.

Combeferre broke the embrace and motioned for Enjolras to enter his cramped apartment. The bed was unmade, the remains of the night’s dinner were molding on his desk, and his clothes were strewn on the floor where Claudine had thrown them.

Enjolras didn’t seem to notice.

“Enjolras, this is Mademoiselle Claudine Allard. Enjolras is one of my closest friends,” Combeferre said stiffly. Claudine curtsied prettily. She seemed to be taking the entire thing in good humor, smiling sweetly at Enjolras.

“I’m pleased to make you acquaintance, Mademoiselle Allard,” Enjolras said. “If I may be so bold, you look precisely like my dear cousin Rosemonde.”

Combeferre, who had met Rosemonde several times, admitted there was a resemblance. There was even more a resemblance between Enjolras and Claudine. Standing across from each other, they looked like twins. Both had round, childish faces with plump lips and a smattering of freckles across their cheeks. Both had vivid blue eyes, though Enjolras’ were bluer than any Combeferre had ever seen. Both had waving, golden hair that tumbled to their shoulders. Claudine’s hasty bun had begun to fall apart.

Claudine had apparently noticed the similarities and seemed on the verge of nervous laughter.

“Have you had breakfast yet, Monsieur Enjolras? Denis and I were just going to this lovely café down the street for a croissant when you came,” Claudine said. Combeferre could have kissed her right there. She was an admirable actress, though she kept grinning coyly.

“I have not. Would you be so kind as to let me accompany you?” Enjolras asked. He shot Combeferre a pointed look. Combeferre realized he was still clad only in a nightshirt and robe. He felt himself reddening.

“We’d be delighted. Perhaps we can step outside and give Denis a chance to dress? He’s a terribly late sleeper and had only just woken up when I came to call,” Claudine ad-libbed. It was a good effort but Enjolras knew that Combeferre was not a late sleeper in the least.

Claudine, calm in spite of being caught between two men holding a very intense staring contest, grabbed Enjolras’ arm and paraded him out in a flurry of meaningless chatter about the law school. The door shut and Combeferre let out a barely-suppressed whimper.

When he descended to the bottom floor, fully dressed and feeling incredibly stupid, Claudine and Enjolras were engaged into a heated discussion about some long-dead English king.

“Oh hullo Denis. Is that a new cravat?” Claudine said, pulling away from the debate. It was a new cravat. Claudine had bought it for him.

“Yes. I quite like it,” Combeferre said. He tried to be sly and flirty, he really did, but he always sounded stupid. Luckily, Claudine seemed to find his romantic awkwardness endearing.

Breakfast was pleasant, if tense. Claudine held them together admirably. Whenever the conversation seemed to lapse into silence, she’d bring up some new book she’d seen in the shops or ask Combeferre to explain some scientific concept to her. Still, even Claudine had to accept defeat after an hour of forced enthusiasm for the principles of light. With the sympathetic squeeze of Combeferre’s shoulder, she announced that she needed to visit her sister and left the two men to converse privately.

Combeferre ordered more coffee.

“Do you not want me here?” Enjolras said suddenly.

“Of course I do. I was a little… busy when you entered but Claudine has graciously left us alone for the day,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras’ lower lip quivered. He still looked so childish.

“I thought you weren’t happy to see me. Who is she?” He asked.

Combeferre had assumed their relationship was obvious and took a long gulp of coffee before answering as tactfully as he could.

“Claudine is my mistress and don’t be stupid, of course I’m happy to see you.”

Enjolras’ face brightened.

“I thought she was but I couldn’t be sure. She’s very pretty,” He said cheerfully, all trace of his earlier frustration gone.

 _Of course she’s pretty, she looks like you,_ Combeferre thought. He hoped desperately that Enjolras’ naïveté would keep him from making that particular connection.

“I think so.”

Combeferre drained his cup. He had been drinking too much coffee. He’d be all nerves later.

There was an awkward silence. Combefere wondered, miserably, if this was the end of their friendship. His six months in Paris had changed him beyond recognition, while Enjolras stayed the same little boy he had been when they parted. He knew that six months ago, he never would have dared to approach a woman like Claudine in conversation, never mind pursue her romantically. Perhaps Enjolras was disappointed in him. Perhaps their childhood infatuation had run its course.

“Have you seen Joly?” Enjolras said nervously. It was so odd to speak to him as if he were a minor acquaintance.

“Yes, just last week. He’s in a few of my classes and every other day he stops me to ask if I can examine him though we have exactly the same level of medical knowledge,” Combeferre said.

“Remember when you had the scarlet fever and every single one of our friends managed to become ill but Joly? I think it would have made him happier to just get sick rather than wait in anticipation,” Enjolras said.

“He has the most remarkable mistress. We were at the opera when he found her and introduced himself by asking if she was aware that a mole on her neck was infected. Musichetta was so touched at his genuine concern for her health that she took him to her flat. It certainly helps that he’s begun curling his hair,” Combeferre said. Enjolras stifled a giggle.

“I have to see him and judge these curls for myself!” Enjolras said.

“I’ll invite him to dinner with us. I’ve also seen quite a lot of Courfeyrac, lately. Don’t roll your eyes, he’s very grown up and he has really wonderful ideas about the education of women,” Combeferre said.

“You mean he’s actually found girls to sleep with instead of inventing them?” Enjolras chortled. Combeferre pretended to blow his nose to hide his growing blush. That was another matter that would have to be broken to Enjolras gently.

“He’s terribly fun to be with. We got to the theatre as often as we can. Him and this Bahorel fellow he knows from law school. Courfeyrac meets the queerest people but they’re all so interesting. I think Bahorel’s been a second year law student for half a decade,” Combeferre said.

“He makes me sound academic,” Enjolras said.

“You are when you bother to do the work. Speaking of which, I’ll pay since I’m sure the basic mathematics of counting out a few sous will confuse you for weeks,” Combeferre teased.

“I’ll have you know I’ve positively mastered algebra! Give me a problem and I’ll solve it,” Enjolras cried.

“I don’t have a pen but when we get back to my apartment, I intend to test you. How is Monsieur Enjolras, the senior?” Combeferre said.

Enjolras groaned and dramatically threw his head back.

“You have a letter in the mail. He wants you to _keep an eye on me_ because I’m clearly on the verge of _physical collapse_ that only, you, Denis Combeferre, can stop.”

Combeferre secretly sympathized with the father desperate not to lose his only child.

“I’ll assure him that as of the morning of March 28th, 1827, you are still living and do not appear to be in the grips of a serious illness.”

Enjolras wagged his eyebrows and grinned.

“You don’t know that. I could be dying of cholera as we speak.”

“You haven’t expelled as bodily fluids since I’ve seen you but I suppose you could be hiding it,” Combefere mused.

“What do you think is in my coffee cup?” Enjolras said, displaying the brown liquid with barely contained hysterics.

Combeferre choked on his bite of brioche and had to be slapped on the back hard before he could breath again.

The tension had disappeared and with the return of Enjolras, Combeferre felt the familiar tug of desperate wanting under the sternum.

They walked to Enjolras’ new apartment arm in arm. Combeferre was to help him unpack but the door barely shut before Enjolras took advantage of their privacy to plant a firm kiss on Combeferre’s lips.

Combeferre stumbled back. His cock twitched experimentally. 

He had been waiting for this moment for six months.

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t want you here,” he groaned, wrapping Enjolras in his arms.

“You’re all grown up! You have a mistress and you go to the theatre and I’m…” Enjolras gestured at his skinny form.

“I _do_ like Claudine and I _do_ intend to take you to see Courfeyrac soon, but to be fair, I don’t like being a proper Parisian student half as much as I like talking with you. There’s only so many nights you can lounge at a café before you get bored stiff. I’ve met many people with our political beliefs but I’ve had a hard time organizing any substantial effort...”

Enjolras responded with another enthusiastic kiss. It was prolonged and Combeferre experimentally pushed his tongue against Enjolras’ closed teeth. The other’s man did not open his mouth in response.

They broke away.

“You must introduce me to these people as soon as you can. Oh, I’m so excited! We’ll finally be able to _do_ something!” Enjolras cried.

He wrapped his skinny arms around Combeferre’s neck, chattering about something he’d read in a newspaper a few weeks ago. Combeferre listened as best he could and tried to ignore, with effort, the stirring in his trousers. 

**Author's Note:**

> A semi-sequel to "would I were steadfast as though art," with more consumptive Enjolras and pining Combeferre.This has been languishing in my drafts folder for a few weeks because I'm nitpicky. 
> 
> The title is stolen from Emily Dickinson's heartbreaking "To own a Susan of my own," which is a must read if you like doomed gay love affairs.
> 
> Any and all feedback and greatly appreciated. :]


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